


Singing the Faithful One

by Niki



Series: From Pent-up Aching Rivers [5]
Category: NCIS
Genre: AU: Supernatural, Accidents, Bedside Vigils, Coma, Community: hc_bingo, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magical Tattoos, POV Multiple, Revelations, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/pseuds/Niki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The doctors placed Jethro in medically induced coma while they waited for the swelling in his brain to go down.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing the Faithful One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MerNeith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerNeith/gifts).



> Thanks to Neith, as usual, for acting as a sounding board and a beta. 
> 
> For my Hurt/Comfort bingo prompt: Hunger/Starvation

Tony's head shot up and his eyes lost their focus, and Vance's words were reduced into meaningless noise with no effect.

“...gent DiNozzo? DiNozzo!”

Tony ran out of the director's office without a word, dimly noting the shout behind him as he rushed down the stairs.

“Gibbs is in trouble,” he said before Tim and Ziva even had time to ask, and then they were all grabbing their guns and sprinting towards the elevator. 

“Isn't he getting coffee?” Tim asked when Tony didn't elaborate. 

“Yes.”

“So what the hell happened?”

“I don't know!”

“Then how do you know he's in trouble?”

“I can _feel_ it,” Tony said, distractedly. 

Ziva frowned. “Wait, is this an incubus thing?”

Tony just looked at her. “It is an incubus thing,” Ziva decided. 

“You can feel your boss in distress?” Tim asked, frowning in confusion, obviously wondering how that worked, and Tony just didn't give a damn about his fragile little mind anymore, and explained.

“I can feel my _Chosen_ in distress.”

\- - -

Tony's words were the final nail in Tim's coffin of denial (and that metaphor didn't even make sense, Tim decided to blame Abby for it). Gibbs was Tony's bondmate, soulbonded mate, and Tim could imagine the “elf lord” comments he'd get for even thinking about that in those terms.

The men were _together_. They had _sex_. (Which probably accounted for Gibbs being in a better mood lately and oh God he really, really didn't want to go there.) And Tony looked like he was going to hyperventilate because the other man was in danger. And trust Gibbs to get in trouble while out getting coffee. 

Again.

\- - -

The doctors placed Jethro in medically induced coma while they waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. The pressure was dangerous if it continued but they were reluctant to tamper with his brain surgically, Ducky explained to the others, first attempting the chemical route of medication and giving the body time to heal itself. 

The kids all looked tired and shocked, sitting in the waiting room. Ducky could see Ziva holding Anthony's hand so tightly it had to hurt, but he got the feeling it was less for her own comfort and more for his, if the looks young Timothy was shooting him were any indication. 

Anthony would be the one to take this the worst, and he had been the one to find Jethro in his crashed car as well, after apparently becoming worried when he didn't return from his coffee run as soon as he was expected. Ducky had heard something about him running out of a meeting with the director, but he did not know what to do with that story so decided to leave pondering about it for now.

As the hours progressed and turned into days, Ducky noticed a pattern developing. Timothy and Ziva were treating Anthony like a grieving widower, and his stubborn refusal to leave the waiting room only underlined that interpretation. Abigail, however, was not part of this arrangement – or understanding – and was taking her own role as a grieving daughter. 

He did wonder if that meant something had happened between the two men, if that had been behind Jethro's even worse than usual temper a few months ago. He also wondered if it had something to do with the tattoo he'd seen on Jethro's hip when the doctors were first treating him.

It had looked familiar, even if not similar to what the poor girl who had ended up on his slab some months ago had looked. More angular where that one had had soft loops, but the similarity was more marked than the general family of “tribal” tattoos would indicate. Could Jethro really have acquired a tattoo as a sign of commitment, and so soon? Ducky knew he was the loyal type, almost dangerously so, but that was fast. Or was it? 

The others kept going to work, even Abigail, but Anthony would not be budged from his seat, even – it seemed – to eat. He was getting pale and withdrawn again, the way he had during the time that coincided with Jethro's temper, and he did not get better no matter how many sandwiches the others pressed on him, or the candy bars Abigail kept slipping to him, the endless cups of coffee or tea he shared with Ducky when he visited. 

Something drastic needed to be done.

\- - -

Tony was getting weaker, he knew it. He hadn't felt as drained since he'd started... since they'd reached an understanding with Jethro. A kiss from his Chosen was enough to keep him going for days, so even in the middle of the busiest case he kept in peak condition. So to lose it all, to be cut off cold turkey... it was almost worse now, knowing what he could feel like, after a night with Jethro. 

But he couldn't, wouldn't, do anything about it. How could he? He needed to be here, because he could feel the emptiness in the back of his mind where Jethro should be, and he couldn't bear to leave the hospital, because he feared the distance would make it even worse.

\- - -

Ziva didn't know what to do. Tony was dying in front of their eyes, the shine leaving his hair despite showering, his eyes going dull, and he kept losing weight no matter how many fast food meals and take away containers she and Tim plied him with. When Abby noticed, she joined in, tempting him with chocolates and sugar skulls. She seemed to be channelling her fear over Gibbs into caring for Tony, and the incubus needed it so very clearly. 

One week into their waiting room vigil Ziva raised her eyes to see a vaguely familiar woman walking down the corridor. She was beautiful, but her worried face matched the surroundings so well she did not think anything of it until the woman stopped by Tony's seat. 

“How did you do it?” Tony asked, seemingly realising the woman was there even without looking up.

“Why didn't you call me?” the woman asked, and her voice was stupidly perfect, soft and melodious, and... was that cat fur on her dark coat? Could it be... but he wouldn't. Tony absolutely would _not_...

The woman sat down on the seat next to him, and he turned into her arms looking almost desperately eager. She rested her face against his hair, and seemed to almost be nuzzling him.

“Come home with me, Tony. Russet is staying tonight as well.”

Tony seemed to understand what that meant, because he looked up, and although Ziva could not see his face from her seat, she did notice her expression was almost pleading. 

“Come on, let me look after you this time.”

With a sinking feeling Ziva realised who she had to be: Emma Dempsey, the succubus they had investigated when her Chosen had been killed. She was Tony's “Cat lady.” And she was here _now_?

“Please, brother.” It was hard to hear the whisper, but Ziva knew enough about lip-reading to be fairly sure she had heard right. 

Tony followed her like a sleepwalker, and turned only to meet Ziva's eyes to ask her to inform him _immediately_ if something changed in Gibbs's condition. 

Ziva kept staring after them after they'd disappeared down the corridor, and when she turned her eyes away again she could see Abby looking at her with a frown. Oh, great, she probably had convinced her that she was jealous over Tony. 

\- - -

Tony looked better when he appeared in the hospital the next morning, and Ziva was _furious_. He was not back to normal, not glowing like after he got together with Gibbs, but it was so very obvious he had gotten _sustenance_ the night before. 

It was not like Ziva had not thought of offering, of course she had, but it felt like sacrilege to do anything that would go against the bond the two men had. And for Tony to break that bond so casually made her blazingly angry. 

She got up to confront him, even though it was not really her place.

“How is he?” Tony asked, the first thing, without even a 'good morning.'

“Alive,” Ziva said, and Tony frowned, obviously realising something was off with her mood.

“What's wrong?”

“What is wrong? You! How could you? With _her_!”

“How could I what? Oh.” She could see the moment he understood what she meant, and his smile was gentle. “It isn't like that.”

“Then what it is like?”

“Come on, let's go sit down somewhere a little further away.” 

Tony led her away from where Abby was sleeping in one of the chairs, and they ended up in the cafeteria, buying coffee that was marginally better than the brown water one could purchase from the machine on their floor, and chose a table in the back corner.

“How do you think the 'bus kids survive?”

“Excuse me?”

“I developed my mark at twelve, that's not an unusual age. But our modern time isn't exactly ready for 12-year-olds going around having sex.”

“I have never thought about that, I suppose I thought it was later in life.”

“Nope. But normally little 'buses have their parents, of whom one is a 'bus themselves. It's called 'secondary feeding.' We can draw sustenance from someone else's sex acts, even if it's not as much as we'd get from doing it ourselves. And kids need less.”

“You mean... you grow up being aware of every time your parents sleep together?”

“We are conduits of sexual energy, Ziva. We cannot avoid it, so we learn to view it as natural.”

“But your mother was dead.”

“My father sent me away, to a boarding school. At first, the dormitories filled with young boys eager to learn their own bodies in the false privacy of the night was enough, and then there was this teacher... well, anyway. I haven't had to resort to it since I was thirteen, but what Emma did last night... She has a girlfriend now, who was staying over, and didn't find it too weird to have sex with her while her 'brother' was sleeping in the guest room.”

“Oh.”

“But thank you for your worry, even if I admit to being a little hurt you thought I'd cheat on Gibbs.”

“I did not... not think of it in those terms, exactly. But I know how desperate one can get when starving. And you were starving.”

“I was. It's been... a long time.”

“And kissing Gibbs while he is unconscious would not...”

“It's not the action of kissing, it's the energy generated – and there is none with an unconscious partner.”

“I see.”

“Now, has there been any chance in his condition?”

“Nothing, but you know the doctors never tell us as much as Ducky, and he is only coming in later.”

“Let's go back. We could grab a cup to Abby while we're at it.”

\- - - 

Tony had thought it would be weirder, to lose his mark. It had been there on his skin for over two decades, a familiar dark shape he saw every day. But he hadn't lost it, not really – it had just moved to another part of him. Jethro's skin was his skin, Jethro's body was his body, and he could still see it every day, touch it, kiss it.

It was bronzed now, not black as it had been on him, but the shape was exactly the same as they were both men. Jethro had taken to its presence perhaps surprisingly well, accepting it as part of the relationship, a token, in lieu of a ring, perhaps. 

But now Tony was faced with the real threat of losing it. If Jethro were to die, among all the other things he'd lose – his love, his friend, his co-worker, his happiness, his home, his future, his soul – he'd also lose the brand. He would never see it again, could never touch it, the skin on his own body unblemished, like there had never been anything on it in the first place. 

For some reason, the idea stung so badly it was felt even among the general pain over the possible loss of his Chosen. 

But at least they'd had each other for a while, they had acknowledged the bond, the feelings, and he had gotten to kiss Jethro, hold him, love him. It wasn't enough, of course it wasn't, it never would be, but it was more than he'd thought he'd ever have. 

It also reminded him how little he really had to show for the relationship in a physical sense. True, he lived with the other man, but his name was in none of the paperwork. He had given up his apartment without a backwards glance, but were Jethro to not wake up, one day soon he'd have to face the fact that without Jethro around, he had no right to his place. 

He didn't even know who would get it after his death. Was there a will? If there was, who was the beneficiary? Abby? Ducky? His father?

Tony wasn't his medical proxy, even, he had no rights to stay by his bedside, no right to weigh in on his treatment. No grounds for compassionate leave. He wondered for the first time why Vance hadn't sacked him already for disappearing from work without a word, then never returning. It was two weeks already.

Abby and Ducky had to know something was up with his uncharacteristic camping at the hospital. But there was no case to solve, no criminals to find, no puzzle to unravel – it had been an accident, pure and simple, tragic and fatal to the other party, so he couldn't even blame the driver of the other vehicle.

He knew Tim and Abby had actually dug into the background of the driver in case it was a set up, but Tony figured it had just been to give them something to do that felt worthwhile, instead of fretting and worrying all the time – like him. 

He couldn't blame them. It would be easier maybe to have someone to hold accountable for Gibbs's current condition, someone to take vengeance on. 

\- - - 

“Good news,” Ducky proclaimed, as if the others couldn't have deduced as much from the smile on his face, seeing that it was a rare sight these days.

They were all there – Anthony, of course, but Abigail and Ziva and Timothy had all shown up at the end of a work day as was their wont. Director Vance wasn't, even though he occasionally made an appearance, and seemed to be studiously ignoring Anthony's presence, or the haggard look he had developed. And all of them perked up at his words, sitting up straighter, Abigail going as far as smiling hopefully.

“The latest tests show that the swelling has gone down. There is no obvious sign of damage but of course we cannot be sure until he wakes up and my colleagues can perform their battery of tests. They stopped administering the drugs last night.”

“But he's going to wake up?”

“There is no reason why he shouldn't. All we can do is wait.”

“Because there hasn't been enough of that yet,” Abigail muttered, but she was still smiling.

Ziva took Anthony's hand again, and beamed at him. Even Timothy was resting a hand on Anthony's shoulder, and those two definitely knew what was up. As Ducky watched, a slow smile grew on Anthony's face.

“He's waking up,” he said, and it sounded like a prophesy, or a progress report, rather than a reaction to Ducky's declared prognosis, an expression of hope.

Both Ziva and Timothy again looked at him knowingly, and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief – as if Anthony really did know something even the doctors did not. Ducky wasn't sure when would be the right moment to confront them about all of it. 

Probably best to wait for Jethro to wake up first.

\- - -

Confusingly, Anthony seemed to grow worse again. He had looked more rested after his friend – girlfriend? – had coaxed him to go home for a night, but now the dark smudges were back under his eyes. One would have expected him to start looking better as the worst danger was over but the opposite seemed to occur. 

Still, it only seemed to be a physical thing, his mood had improved vastly. His appetite appeared to have returned as well, and he devoured eagerly what ever food the others provided him with, yet it did nothing to correct the lean, hungry look he had. It looked like he had lost weight, and his pallor was almost sickly. Ducky wondered when the nurses would drive him away from the waiting room, fearing he would infect their patients, but when checked, he had no fever, and no signs of infection. 

It was becoming increasingly obvious the boy loved Jethro even more deeply than Ducky had realised, and that the love was less filial and more... passionate in nature. But even that was not enough to explain his rapid decline. 

A sudden comparison sprang to his mind unbidden: the unfortunate victims of the serial rapist and murderer Daniel Webster – they had all looked like Anthony, starved and exhausted, and all had gotten that way far, far faster than the time line assembled by the team should warrant. 

Anthony had seemed deeply invested in the investigation, too, even more so than usual, even though the sensitive boy was always determined to apprehend those who harmed the innocent, especially women.

And even though Ducky hadn't been allowed to perform the autopsy on Webster himself, seeing as members of NCIS had caused his death and a due investigation to conclude whether it had been a righteous shooting had to be conducted, he had read the report. Webster had also had one of those tattoos. He had no idea what it all meant, not enough data to even formulate theories, but he knew there was something potentially huge he was missing here.

It was never more apparent than when Anthony's head shot up from where he had been sitting slumped on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting area, eyes bright, a wide smile slowly taking over his face.

He didn't say a word, but Ducky was already waiting for the doctor that joined them in a few minutes, and the good news he was carrying, instinctively trusting this sudden, weird precognitive ability when it came to Jethro's condition, although he couldn't have told you. or even himself, why. 

“He's obviously waking up, and much sooner than we expected,” the young doctor was explaining enthusiastically. “I think it would help if one of you was present, Dr. Mallard.”

Ducky got up, and knew what he had to do.

“Anthony, my boy, I think you'd better join us too.”

\- - -

It was decades since Ducky had regularly seen live patients, and a waking coma patient wasn't an everyday occurrence even for hospital doctors, but he knew enough to realise this was not a typical scene. One moment Jethro was lying dead to the world, only the attached monitors recording his slow climb towards consciousness, the next his eyes shot open, and there was no confusion on his face, no grogginess, and his head turned unerringly to where Anthony was standing. 

“You look horrible,” Jethro said, with no slurring or stutter, only the mild roughness of a long sleep in his voice.

“ _I_ look horrible? Jethro, you...” Anthony's face was doing the weird shuffle between laughter and tears one so often encountered in their job – both in relatives of patients as well as victims – but he took a step closer, both of them seemingly oblivious to the other people in the room.

“Come here,” Jethro commanded, and grabbed the front of his shirt with a surprisingly strong hand, that wasn't even shaking. 

He pulled the unresisting man towards him, and gave him a... oh. A very thorough kiss, and Ducky did not even want to think about the nature of his morning breath after two weeks unconscious but Anthony didn't seem to mind. 

In fact, he was showing all the signs completely opposite of minding, as when he pulled back he looked so much better that Ducky blinked, momentarily doubting whether he had seen correctly. It seemed that he had regained the colour on his face, and lost the bags under his eyes, even his hair looked more alive. And quite apart from that, the men had _kissed_ , and done so with remarkable familiarity.

“Well, I suppose that answers that question,” he said aloud, and the men turned to look at him, as if only now being reminded that he was still in the room.

He gave them a benevolent smile. It's not like he had anything against their relationship, in fact, he was all for something that would bring stability to Anthony's life, and happiness to Jethro's. 

“But I think my esteemed colleague here would like to finish his tests, before you resume your... greetings,” he said, as if someone had replied to him.

\- - -

Gibbs recovered quickly once he had woken up, leaving the doctors amazed. His age and the long unconsciousness were against him, but he had been strong – and not just for his age – before the accident, and soon regained his former muscle tone and level of fitness.

Tony seemed to always know what he needed, when he had to be coaxed, when mocked, and when given a swift kick in the backside – verbally – and Abby was almost in awe. The men seemed suddenly so much closer than she had ever seen them, and it wasn't just that they were obviously together now, it was something deeper. It was like Tony had acquired a gut comparable to Gibbs, but his was only telling him what Gibbs needed.

And he himself looked so much better, so fast. His hair was shiny, and there was no sign of the Gothic heroine look from their waiting room vigil. 

So something was going on, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. She chose the moment when she and Tony and Timmy were waiting for Gibbs to be done with his final meeting with a doctor before being allowed to go home. Tony had offered to drive him, and Abby had declared they needed a party, and Ziva and Ducky were already at the house waiting for them.

“Are you a vampire, Tony?” Abby asked, dead serious. 

“Am I a... what?”

“You're something, something that needs Gibbs in some other way than just as a lover, and if it's his blood, then you and I are going to have a _serious_ issue.”

“You've seen him go out during the day,” Tim said, with a perfectly straight face.

Abby just raised her hand to make a stopping motion. “I'm not talking to you, Timmy, as you obviously know what's going on but _are not sharing_!”

“We can talk about it when we get to our place.”

“ _Your_ place?” Abby asked, putting as much menace into her voice as she could. And let's face it, it was a _lot_. She'd learnt from Gibbs, after all.

“Ooops?” Tony offered, not even deigning to look at all apprehensive. 

“How long have you _lived together_ without even telling me!”

“Forty-seven days. Sixty-nine if you count the days I've spent in the hospital,” Gibbs said from the doorway, before casually making his way over to give Abby a single handed hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Shall we go home?”

Tony looked besotted, probably because _Gibbs had counted the days_. Who knew he could be such a sap in a relationship?

“I think we're in for an interrogation, Boss,” Tony said, grinning, and steered Gibbs towards the elevators with a hand on his lower back. 

The grin Gibbs shot him took Abby's breath away with how bright and happy it was, with how young it made him look. Maybe she'd forgive a little blood drinking if it made her gruff Gibbs look like that.

\- - -

Ducky volunteered himself to be the one to explain things to the director. He was authorised to reveal as much as he needed to, to keep Vance off their backs and Anthony employed despite his long absence. They also expected him to have to explain Anthony's preternatural knowledge of his boss being in danger in the first place.

Ducky was convinced it could all be done very simply.

“Let's put it this way, Director: do you _really_ want to know?”

Vance chewed on his toothpick, and pondered for a while, meeting the doctor's solid gaze. He had to be remembering how Tony had looked when he left this office when he really shouldn't even have known yet that anything was amiss, and maybe he was considering his unexplained weeks' absence. He also seemed to be contemplating the horror that a potentially telepathic Gibbs could be, because he shuddered visibly, and finally sighed deeply.

“No,” he concluded. “I don't suppose I do.”

-The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of you who have been following this series! I promise that every kudos and comment has made my life a little better, and has encouraged me to keep writing, even when I despair at the sight of the empty word document.


End file.
